experiment
by viennacantabile
Summary: It's absolutely ridiculous, but as they begin the walk home, she can't stop staring at his lips. A few well-placed words from the Jet girls have Midge wondering about Mouthpiece. A year or five post-movie.


Disclaimer: **Megfly** owns Midge; the gods of _West Side Story_ own everything else.

Note: I think this came about because of a suggestion from a few months ago to do Mouthpiece/Midge FP. This sort of veered off into its own territory, and I suppose you could view it as an extension to seven kisses, actually, but anyway, I hope you like it. :) Set post-movie.

For: **Meg**, creator of Midge the Amazing.

—viennacantabile

* * *

experiment

.

What I mean is — he thinks I'm sort of — prim and proper, you know! I want to deceive him enough to make him — want me.

—Tennessee Williams, _A Streetcar Named Desire_

.

"Ya mean you've never even _kissed_ him?" asks a scandalized Bernice, her jaw dropping open.

Midge, awkwardly perched at Velma's desk, flushes red at Bernice's horrified tone, but answers truthfully, with some degree of composure. "No." She can't just let it go at that, though; all the assembled Jet Girls, even Minnie, are trading shocked glances and Midge, for once, is entirely uncomfortable at being the cause of consternation. "But kissing is entirely unnecessary, you know. Proper discussion of mutual expectations and values is _far_ more conducive to a stable, productive relationship."

"Midge," cuts in a bored-looking Graziella from the vanity, inspecting her brightly-polished nails, "when've ya ever been able to get a 'proper discussion of mutual expectations an' values' outta Mouthpiece?"

Midge opens, then closes her mouth, speechless. Graziella, she thinks, might actually be _right_, for once in her life.

The redhead isn't done. "I don't blame ya, though," she shrugs. "I wouldn' wanna kiss Mouthpiece, either."

"Better'n trusty-rusty Tiger," cracks Bernice from the floor.

Graziella shoots her a dirty look. "Or Gee-Tar," she sniffs, twisting the ring on her finger. Bernice reddens.

"_Anyway_," says Midge, ignoring the other girls, "it's just two people sharing oral bacteria and all sorts of pathogens. The human mouth is a _disgusting_ place, you know." She sits up very straight. "Pardon me if I don't quite see the attraction."

"Oh, but that ain't all it is," disagrees Velma fervently, moving forward from her spot on her bed to put a sympathetic hand on Midge's shoulder. Ever since she started going—Midge hesitates to call what she's been doing with Mouthpiece _dating_—with Velma's former admirer, the blonde girl has been noticeably warmer to her, and even though it is obvious why, Midge can't help but appreciate it. It's nice, she thinks again, to have—friends. "Midge, a kiss tells ya _everythin'_ about how a guy feels about ya," Velma goes on, dimpling. "Not only that, but it's fun, too."

"Not as fun as what comes after," smirks Pauline lazily. "Kissin's just a lead-up to the _real_ deal, anyway."

"What's that?" asks Minnie, wide-eyed.

Clarice gives Pauline a glare that is not lost on any of them except Minnie. "_Nothin'_, Minnie. Right, Pauline?"

The older girl rolls her eyes. "Right, Clarice."

Midge, once again more than a little shocked by just how candid Pauline can be, turns back to Velma. "What do you mean, exactly?"

Velma smiles. "Well," she says, "the first time Ice kissed me I knew he was gonna make sure he saw me again. But a few of the other guys I kissed, well—" She pauses. "Ya knew they were just after the one thing."

Midge considers this. She supposes it makes sense; after all, teenage boys aren't exactly the most sophisticated model of male on the planet, and it follows that they broadcast their emotions so easily. "Well, yes, but—Mouthpiece and I are beyond that sort of thing," she insists, feeling a tad bit superior. "The fact that he has never _once_ tried anything proves it, don't you think?"

"Or maybe," says Bernice, very innocently, "he just don't wanna kiss ya."

Midge furrows her brow. "What?"

"I mean," Bernice goes on, "don'tcha find it a little funny that he _ain't_ tried to kiss ya?"

Midge stares. "No."

The brunette shrugs, and stretches. "Okay. All I know is, I'd be real mad if I was seein' a guy for a few months an' he never even tried anythin'. Then again," she adds, her gaze sweeping Midge up and down, "I guess he's too scared."

"Bernice!" snaps Clarice, glaring down at her twin. Velma, too, gives Bernice a frosty look as Midge bites her lip and watches Pauline smirk. Maybe Bernice has a point…

"I'm sure Mouthpiece wants to kiss you," Minnie cheerfully assures her, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. "He probably just hasn't been able to work up the nerve yet."

"They're not _all_ like Baby John, Minnie," Pauline says, not unkindly. "'Sides, Mouthpiece ain't the shy type." She grins. "Least, not that _I_ remember."

Both Graziella and Bernice burst into laughter. Minnie looks around at the three of them, confused. Clarice buries her head in her hands. And Velma sighs.

"Midge," she says, "Mouthpiece likes ya. Which means he wants to kiss ya." Velma gives her a little smile. "An' you'll like it. Trust me on this."

Midge eyes her warily. Trust, she knows, is what friends do. And even though Midge is still just beginning to consider Minnie and Velma and maybe even the other Jet girls as friends, she thinks it's possible that she can give it a try.

"Well," she finally allows, trying to suppress the tiny little unidentified feeling that is springing up in her heart, "maybe."

.

Midge sees kissing _everywhere_ for the next two weeks, and it is enough to drive her mad. First, she walks in on her mother giving her father a peck on the lips—"_Mother_!" Midge admonishes, horribly embarrassed; Mrs. O'Quinn just giggles—then, the next chapter in the anatomy book she has checked out from the library just _happens_ to be about the mouth. Worst of all, though, is the fact that her friends all happen to have very affectionate boyfriends. Even Minnie.

"Oh!" gasps a scarlet Minnie, who has just jumped two feet away from Baby John, though not in time to prevent Midge from seeing a very shy, very brief kiss under the streetlight outside of Doc's.

Baby John rubs the back of his neck embarrassedly, almost as red as Minnie. "H—hi, Midge."

Midge rolls her eyes and moves past them out of Doc's, where she has been trying to do her homework, with limited success. "Oh, honestly, you two," she says, though nowhere near as acidly as she has been known to do in the past.

"Wait for me!" bleats Mouthpiece, tripping over himself in his rush to catch up with her.

Midge turns to look at him. "Oh. Hello, Mouthpiece."

"Hiya, Midgetrix," he returns cheerfully, breaking into a wide grin.

.

It's absolutely ridiculous, but as they begin the walk home, she can't stop staring at his _lips_.

It's not only that.

From lips to the rest of him is the natural progression, and for the first time, Midge finds herself wondering about what Pauline calls 'the _real_ deal.' She has never thought about this before, because Midge, if nothing else, has never had to. She's never even really wanted to. But now that the suggestion has been made, she _can't stop thinking about it_. And it's driving her crazy, because when she considers any part of Mouthpiece other than his wide, placid blue eyes, this leads to very unfamiliar, very uncomfortable physical sensations and feelings. For every action, there is a reaction, she supposes as they walk through the streets of West Side, but what is frustrating is that there has been no action whatsoever to cause this.

Midge knows the technical theory behind it, of course, but theory is very different from practice, and she can't quite figure out why _Mouthpiece_, of all people, should be the one to create this kind of effect. He is just a boy, after all, and Midge has never been one of those girls who go crazy over the silly creatures. And so the problem before her today is that she doesn't understand why, when Mouthpiece stumbles against her or occasionally hugs her like the big baby he is, she feels a jolt of electricity shoot through her body like she's been struck by lightning. It is odd and strange and wrong and somehow when it happens she wants to push forward and explore this new sensation and see just how far it will go.

Midge approaches the difficulty with an almost scientific curiosity. There are his eyes—very blue, she notes, though of course the adjective isn't strictly relevant or professional; there are his ears (wide), nose (snubbish), and mouth (large, hence the nickname). These, while interesting, are familiar; she has each and every one of them, too, in varying shapes and sizes. There is no explanation to be found here.

His body is not quite different from hers, either, despite the obvious anatomical gender differences, thinks Midge, blinking rapidly as she observes him out of the corner of her eye. The boy is a hulking beanpole of a Jet, lumbering around knocking into walls and doors and people with no sense of balance or spatial awareness. It's a wonder he hasn't managed to kill himself yet. He's certainly no smooth movie star. He can't even walk two feet without tripping.

It simply doesn't make sense, Midge decides, pushing up her glasses as they walk. He is just a silly _boy_. There is no reason for any of this at all. It is just that ridiculous conversation about _kissing_—

Which, she supposes, is precisely the issue.

Midway between Doc's and her apartment, she finally just stops under a streetlight. Mouthpiece keeps going, humming obliviously, until he finally realizes, a block later, that she isn't there anymore. Then he jogs back.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Midge doesn't exactly know, herself, but standing there in that circle of yellow light, she is desperate to find out. She can't continue like this, she thinks determinedly, because above all, Midge is a student. It's always been her job to find out, to learn, to _know_. In her case, ignorance isn't bliss; it's unacceptable. So finally, in the name of research, Midge just bites the bullet.

She eyes him thoughtfully. "Kiss me."

Mouthpiece trips on what Midge supposes must just be his rather large feet, as she doesn't see anything on the pavement to make him stumble—especially not when he's standing still. "Huh?" he asks, eyes wide.

Midge regards him calmly. "Kiss me. It's research," she qualifies, though she's not sure why she feels the need to explain herself to him.

Mouthpiece tilts his head warily. "Ya feelin' okay, Midgety-pidgety?"

Midge nods firmly, biting back a comment about the latest variation on her name. "Yes. Just kiss me, please."

Mouthpiece shrugs. "Okay," he says agreeably. After looking around the street, he leans down and awkwardly touches his lips to hers. It's just a tiny peck on the mouth, hardly anything, but there it is again—that shiver that ripples through her body and strokes her nerves with fire. Rapid breathing, dizziness, erratic heartbeat, she notes dispassionately as she is beset by those very symptoms.

Midge bites her lip, frowning as she tries to regain her composure. She still doesn't understand this. "Again," she requests determinedly.

Mouthpiece shrugs again, but this time he reaches forward and puts his large, paw-like hands on her shoulders before pressing his mouth to hers, a little longer this time. And again, Midge feels that same unfamiliar ache and wave of anticipation sweep through her, but it's not so easy to shake off this time. She either hates it or she likes it; she's not sure which.

As Mouthpiece steps back, eyes wide, Midge knows she should really stop this farce of a comedy right now. But she is almost there, almost, and that relentless pursuit of knowledge that has always driven her is pushing her forward and now that she is so close there is no stopping her.

"Again," she says. And then he touches her back, very lightly, and leans forward, and Midge has never been really, truly kissed before, has never thought about it, doesn't know what it's supposed to feel like, but all she knows is that she definitely doesn't hate it. Her eyelids slide shut and her hands move forward of their own volition to hold onto the boy in front of her, who, she suddenly notices, may have the same basic human body as she does, but feels entirely different. Mouthpiece presses into her slightly, and Midge is so near to him that she can feel his heart beating, skidding, thudding in his chest underneath his worn shirt.

She wonders if he can feel hers.

.

They have to stop when Midge opens her eyes and discovers, unaccountably, that her glasses are fogging up.

They never mentioned this in her biology textbooks, she thinks, exasperated, as she breaks away and fishes a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe them off. What is the _use_ of books that don't explain absolutely everything, anyway?

"I didn' know they did that," says Mouthpiece, eyes wide.

Midge's lips twitch. She is slightly embarrassed, to be honest, and avoids looking him in the face. "Neither did I. Let's go, though. It's getting late."

Mouthpiece shrugs. "Okay."

.

"Y'know," he says, about a block later, "I wonder why I never kissed ya before."

Midge eyes him incredulously. "Well, then," she says dryly, before she can stop herself, "why _didn't_ you?" Despite her tone, she really does want to know if Bernice and Pauline are right, that he just never wanted to at all. If she really is that repulsive.

"I don' know," he says comfortably.

Midge stares at him. The concept of _not knowing_ the reason why is entirely foreign to her. "But—don't you _want_ to know?"

"Don' know," he shrugs. "What's it matter?"

Midge shuts her mouth with a snap. In fact, she thinks, amazed, she's never quite considered this before. _Does_ it matter, not knowing? She is silent, thinking…

"I like kissin' ya," Mouthpiece confides after another block. "Mind if I do it again?"

Midge stares. Then she shakes her head no, she doesn't mind. She still doesn't understand why she feels the way she does, but maybe, Midge supposes with a sigh, Mouthpiece has a point. Maybe you don't always _have_ to know why. Maybe the why is less important than the simple fact that the feeling _exists_. And maybe, Midge thinks reluctantly, the Jet girls are slightly more intelligent than she gives them credit for. At least about kissing.

Even so, she's still brushing her teeth when she gets home. After all, Midge reflects judiciously as Mouthpiece puts his arms around her, the human mouth _is_ a rather disgusting place.

.

.end.

* * *

Props if you can find Nemo. Also, feedback gets virtual chocolate croissants. :)

—viennacantabile


End file.
